InfraRed
by LittleMissMorbid
Summary: ."Somebody call an ambulance, 'cause there's gonna be an accident." Based on Wynn11's prompt. One-shot.


_Prompt: Derek and Casey are in a car accident, they might not both survive._

_Word count: 1,191_

_Note: I will attempt to continue Revelations. If you have a plot suggestion or idea, please PM me. I have no idea where I'm gonna go with it._

_(I don't like this story much at all, so don't feel the need to tell me that you don't as well please)_

_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o_

It started with Derek. It always started with Derek, because there was something about him that made all eyes land on him, and even if he hadn't had that _something, _Casey would still have maintained that it started with him because he was the immature moron that propelled the general chaos in her life.

Except this time, it wasn't a prank or a comment that fueled their fight. In fact, they weren't fighting at all. Hilarious, right? That the only time they're _not _fighting is when tons of steel was keeping them dangerously close, something she typically couldn't stand with Derek.

Casey wondered how she could be so lucid and calm in such adangerous situation. The real Casey would be screaming hysterically, till her throat was raw and the tears began to sting.

She had been, at first. But now she's just tired and numb. Her left leg, something that had exploded in pain prior to her screaming and crying, must have been tired too because she can't feel the pain anymore.

Truth is, she's been here for a while—it feels like days, and maybe it has been, she doesn't really know. Casey remembers how they were fighting over who got to control the radio. It was stupid, really. He wanted to listen to Blink-182, she wanted to listen to Mandy Moore. And it had been a long day of driving—dropping the kids off, picking them up, getting groceries, losing Marti, finding Marti—so when they finally arrived home and realized that the other (Casey would blame it on Derek, and vice versa) had forgotten the youngest of the McDonald clan, claws were unsheathed, razorsharp words adopted.

_He _(Casey still blames him) swerved into the path of a semi and in the process of attempting to avoid it, had gotten the vehicle flipped over and into a particularly deep ditch. In the beginning she'd heard cars and voices, but all had gone silent since then.

Maybe she's dead already and this was hell.

(It was a hit and run. It happened. There's no denying it, so she should just stopstopstop lying to herself and try to save her _and him_)

Derek still doesn't say anything. He's just resting his head on the steering wheel, his eyes shut. Casey pretends he's sleeping.

She begged him to wake up. Even hit him once, in her frustration. Anything would have sufficed—a groan, a smirk, an insult. But she received nothing for her trouble.

It was easier to pretend he was sleeping than potentially dead.

Then a voice shouts into the air, cracking like fireworks, exploding in her ears: _Henry! Henry, you bad dog! Get back here!_

The black furry muzzle that shoves itself against her cheek must undoubtedly belong to Henry. A long slobbery tongue begins to lick her skin and Casey almost giggles before realizing how inappropriate that response is.

Instead, she screams, _"Help! Over here!"_

There's a lot of expletives and gasping for breath as the next few minutes pass. Finally, a rotund, chubby face appears and the greasy lips form the words, "Are you okay?"

"Can you call an ambulance?"

It kind of surprises her how calm she still is, even as she's in the midst of being rescued. Maybe she hit her head and she can't feel emotions anymore.

"Shit, hold on, hold on, okay?"

The ambulance comes. They can't just pull her out—something about being pinned by the chunks of metal—so they cut her out. The screeching and whining of metal being chopped up doesn't rouse Derek in the slightest.

"You have to help my brother," Casey says, urgency finally bubbling up in her throat. She doesn't even notice the slip.

The man strapping her down into the ambulance looks her in the eyes and only nods.

"He'll be coming with me, right? You're taking him with me, you have to."

"We'll get him to you, ma'am."

The door slams shut. The sirens wail.

The first thing Casey notices is this—it _hurts. _The doctors and nurses are screaming in their medical lingo and with a normal brain Casey would probably be able to understand it, but she's so disoriented and _cold _that all she notices is the pain.

Then soon, she doesn't notice anything at all. She dreams.

It's not white like they portray in the movies. It's grey and green muddled colors that swarm her eyesight as she slowly goes in and out between consciousness and _not. _

"_Casey."_

She groans.

"Casey!"

Eyes snap open but Casey finds herself unable to answer because there's this _fucking _plastic thing shoved down her throat.

Derek looms above her and she wonders why the hell he's able to walk when she's the one strapped to a bed with a plastic thing. He just stares at her, saying her name over and over, gently, like a lullaby. Soon she can't push the drugs away anymore and dreams again.

There's red lights and eyes made of flashlights and Derek, Derek is there and she has to find him. SHE HAS TO FIND HIM. So she pulls past the rubble and finds his arm, finds his eyes, his lips, and she cries because she can't save him after all.

(And in the back of her head, a song echoes)

"…_Someone call the ambulance_

_There's gonna be an accident.  
I'm coming up on infrared, there is no running that can hide you,  
'Cause I can see in the dark.  
I'm coming up on infrared, forget your running, I will find you."_

When she wakes up Derek isn't there anymore, but a nurse is. She's kind of fat with big chubby red cheeks and grey-tinged red hair. Casey thinks she belongs on the cover of some odd 60's magazine advert.

"Well, hello there. I heard you got into quite a pickle, little lady."

Casey just stares.

"Let's get this tube out, okay?"

The nurse murmurs instructions and just like that, the tube is gone and her throat is parched but free.

"I'm glad you're awake. You got quite a family waiting for you."

It burns as the name rises past her throat and off her lips, but she has to know: "Derek?"

The nurse pretends she doesn't hear and instead prepares her for the arrival of the family.

Nora goes first, taking her in with a giant hug and blubbery tears. Then Lizzie, though she's considerably less blubbery and more huggy.

The name makes its descent into the room, quietly. "Derek,"

"They had to take him to surgery, honey."

And that's all she needs to hear before panic rises back up and makes her scream and scream. The cherub-cheeked nurse comes in, ushering her family out and effectively shuts her up with more drugs.

Casey dreams that Derek is chopped up into little pieces, just like their car and carted away, to never be seen again.

In reality, the next time she wakes up, he's there again.

His head is possibly the most grotesque part—rows and rows of staples curve lines around the shaved parts of his skull, puffy and red and pulsating. There's bruises on his face and a few more stitches on his forehead. There's a padded collar around his neck and casts on his left arm and leg.

Casey wonders how she looks.

In reality, she has fared somewhat better with the extent of her injuries. She has plenty of bruises, and a few bandages, but only one cast.

She lays there, watching him, waiting for him to wake up so she can listen to one of his insults. Never had she wished to be insulted, but she wants it more than anything today.

Derek doesn't open his eyes that day, or on the second, third, or fourth day.

On the fifth day, though, at exactly 3:52 AM, he looks straight at her.

She says, "I missed you."

And Derek whispers, _"Me too." _


End file.
